


Twisted, Tangled, Wounded, Upset

by xxELF21xx



Series: Soul Mates for the Broken, Beaten, Damned, and Upset [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character tweaking, I'm Sorry, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Living in Spain and living in England has many faults, M/M, Prussia dies, Romano was once a happy kid, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, hungary doesn't have a tattoo, soul mate tattoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:24:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4204407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romano was a happy kid, growing up, but his granddad suddenly died and he had to take on responsibilities as the eldest heir. He and his brother moved to England, to find their granddad's lawyer. And as a result, Romano's happy life was dashed with work, more work, and juggling faking happiness for his brother and hiding his loneliness under a snarky attitude. He hasn't changed, just had a mask cover his delicate life. </p>
<p>He doesn't need anything else that will ruin him, so he ruins his Mark. And he covers it up with a bracelet he swears to never remove. He doesn't need another name that he can mourn over. </p>
<p>Romano was no longer that happy, but it's alright —as long as his brother is there and happy, Romano will be fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovino Vargas, Romano Vargas

**Author's Note:**

> Soul mate AUs. Starting with Spain and Romano. Well, this will be a little heartbreaking, traumatising, and... yeah.
> 
> If you have any questions, they are in the "more notes" section. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Reviews would be amazing. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, mistakes, please do tell.

The day Lovino's granddad died, his world came tumbling down. His mother died due to childbirth, his father died in a freak accident, and now Lovino's other family member is dead. Died in his sleep. 

Who would take over Grandpa's company? He was far too young, only nine at that time. His aunt —that he saw only on Christmas— from Greece led him and his younger brother Feliciano to the airport in Italy and sent them to England. 'Look for Aliastor Kirkland,' Aunt Atlanta told Lovino, 'he will help you.' Terrified, Lovino clutched onto his aunt and seven year old brother, 'will I meet you again?' Lovino wanted her to say yes. And thank the gods she did. 'Of course, annually, on Christmas, as usual.' With a last hug and a kiss on both cheeks; Lovino and Feliciano were sent on board. The company, Lovino knew, would be taken over by Aunt Atlanta until he met the lawyer. 

The entire time, Feliciano asked Lovino why they weren't allowed to attend the funeral. He had sobbed and begged his brother to tell him the reason. Lovino did not know himself.

When they landed in Heathrow, they were whisked away by a French man named Francis that would take them to Aliastor. 'Your grandfather was a kind, but strict, man. He was wonderful.' Francis said, but he gave no condolences. Francis was only fourteen then. He said he was from France, but moved to England when his parents had to expand their company. He met Aliastor when he was ten, and Aliastor had an adorable —but rather rude— and endearing younger brother. He added no more, and Lovino looked at his younger brother. He would protect the younger Vargas, no matter what, keep him happy, just like how his parents and granddad had kept Lovino happy.

They met Aliastor, who was a young lawyer of nineteen at that time, and his younger brothers. Francis only mentioned one. Why was there an additional three? Lovino greeted them politely, as did Feliciano —his movements were more sluggish, from jetlag— the youngest Kirkland was Arthur, who was twelve. Francis was right, Arthur was a rather rude boy to Francis (and Francis alone), but he was also quite adorable (he tried looking from a fourteen year old's point of view), and really polite; unlike Francis. Aliastor filled them in on details that Lovino could remember by heart now.

He had Aliastor promise that Feliciano would not work or get stressed. 

Aliastor explained that, for the time being, the company would be ran by Aunt Atlanta, until Lovino was eighteen. Aunt Atlanta would work in Greece, their house —mansion, actually,— would be vacant of anyone but the workers. They could return to Italy whenever summer rolls by. Lovino brightened up. He'd promised Aliastor he would study hard, so he could lessen Aunt Atlanta's workload. 

A season passed, and it was Christmas. Feliciano had never slept in another room that did not hold his brother. They stayed with a couple named Roderich and Elizabeta, they were both friendly, and would allow the two boys to help in chores —though it was not often— Roderich would teach them music and arts while Elizabeta would guide them in language and mathematics. Sciences were taught by Arthur (who was a prodigy), history and literature would be by Francis. Lovino took business classes alone with Aunt Atlanta over Skype, while Roderich kept Feliciano busy by playing the piano or telling stories of famous composers. The other subjects were taught by various tutors. They did not attend public school.

As promised, Aunt Atlanta came to England to celebrate Christmas, along with Grandpa G —Granddad's good friend— and they were given more presents than ever. 

Lovino cried heavily for the second time this year, along with Feliciano when Aunt Atlanta passed the door. It was then that they found a new family.

Come New Year's Eve, the Kirkland Mansion was filled with people Lovino had never seen before. Sure, there were a percentage that Lovino made friends with, and it seemed as though Lovino's world expanded more. Feliciano smiled brightly when the fireworks hung brightly along with the stars. Lovino smiled too. 

Three days later, Lovino woke up with a tattoo. He'd seen it before, on his parents and Roderich, and Francis, and Arthur.  _Antonio Fernández Carriedo,_ it spelt. Lovino tumbled out of bed blindly. No, no, no, no, no, no. This was a soul mate tattoo. He didn't want it. No. He didn't want another person he will care for to crash and burn. He whipped to look at Feliciano's wrist, arm, ankle, neck, and spine. No tattoo. Though, it could always appear elsewhere. He checked thoroughly. Nothing. 

He took a deep breath in. Feliciano still had a few years, he guessed. But, he glanced at his wrist, he didn't want a soul mate. Not while he's trying so hard to keep his studies straight and clear his life. Whoever this person was, he would have to die a lone man. 

Lovino was not falling in love with another man that was not his brother. He only had his brother in heart, for all eternity. Because Lovino was tasked to shelter Feliciano, he would not allow his affection and love to go to someone else. Never.

He rushed to the shower, got cleaned, and ran down the steps of the grand stairs of the Edelstein Mansion —the people he knew were all rich, for some apparent reason— to run into Elizabeta. 'Lovino! You're up really early!' Elizabeta greeted cheerily, eyes glinting. Lovino's eyes widened in knowing. Elizabeta wanted something. 'Good morning, Elizabeta.' Lovino greeted in turn, Elizabeta gave him a look. 

'On the third day of the year you turn ten, a tattoo -or Mark- will appear somewhere on your body. And each family has a specific place for these Marks, which bear the name of your soulmate, your family's; Francis supplied, is on either wrist.' Elizabeta said, slowly. She smiled kindly, 'who is it?' Lovino stood, shocked. What business did the Bonnefois run? How could they know something as sensitive as Mark Spots? Lovino shivered, and shoved his wrists in his pockets, walking clumsily backwards. Away from prying people, he didn't want people to know. Elizabeta's grin slipped off quickly. She flustered, 'Lovino? Are you alright? I'm sorry I pried, I was just happy for—' she paused as she saw the fear swarm Lovino's eyes. 

Elizabeta neared Lovino, but Lovino took off. Elizabeta paled. Did Lovino— no, no. No way, Lovino, Lovino was a wonderful, positive, absolutely cute boy. He couldn't— Elizabeta choked back her tears and struggled to walk, with the help of the wall, she had to go to Roderich. Lovino couldn't be. No way. Elizabeta was certain Lovino would get a Mark. 

Her eyes rang in horror when she found Roderich. Roderich was waiting for the name the Mark gave. He stood, feet swift. 'Elizabeta? Is something wrong? I heard Lovino come down the stairs, you must have ran into him. What. . .' The words died when Elizabeta looked at her husband. Her green eyes shook with a glassy image. 'He was so  _scared,_ Roderich. When I asked, he,' Elizabeta took a breath, collapsing on the male.

'I think Lovino's lost his Mark.' 

Roderich's throat dried. Elizabeta cried softly against him. 

 

Lovino ran, ran, ran. He ran until his feet slipped and caught on a vine. He was going to miss breakfast, but he didn't care. Lovino manuevered swiftly to snap the vine. He paused, face flushed with a lack of oxygen. He was in the garden, free from Elizabeta.

Elizabeta. . . She looked so eager. Lovino's eyes pricked when he leaned his head to lay on the trunk of a pine tree. Elizabeta was an Unmarked. 

_'Elizabeta?' Lovino called out to the lady. Elizabeta smiled and walked to the the boy. 'Lovino? You're supposed to have lessons with Atlanta.' Lovino brightened with a blush. 'Aunt Atlanta's ill.' Elizabeta sighed. She guided him to a chair in the sitting room. 'Don't catch a fever leaning on the walls, it will be terrbile.' Lovino pointed to the book in hands. 'Oh! You want to learn about Marks?' Elizabeta exclaimed. Lovino shook his head. 'Can you tell me about your mark?'_

_Elizabeta smiled sadly, she rolled up the skirt she wore to show her ankle. It was bare, Lovino could not comprehend. 'Um. . .' Lovino tried for words. Elizabeta shook her head, 'I don't have a soul mate. Mine died in childbirth. I'm an Unmarked.' Lovino made an "O". 'What about Roderich?' Elizabeta laughed lightly._

_'I was once a serving girl here, you know.' Elizabeta started her tale. 'Roderich was a kind employer, he did not question things. But his soulmate, Gilbert. . . The man was something. He made it his mission to make my life in the Mansion a living hell full of anger and desperation and laughter.' Lovino nodded slowly, 'I used to hit Gil with a frying pan I carried around, when I was irritated by him. Roderich would shake his head and exclaim how childish we were. He would make me apologise to the cooks for breaking a pan every time I hit too hard and dented it. That was life.' Elizabeta had tears forming in her eyes now._

_Lovino looked at his caretaker, sadness clung to her clothes. 'England was always an unpredictable country, one day, a heavy shower took place while Gil was out. He didn't return for three days. When he did,' Elizabeta choked, 'it was his body.' Lovino sat in shocked silence. His mind ran with conclusions to the weird paintings he'd seen of an albino who looked ready to jest, standing next to Roderich. And phtotos of Elizabeta hitting the same man with a pan, Roderich having a face of "God, help me". That man was Gilbert. 'We recieved his will from the lawyers', Gil wanted Roderich to wed me; he didn't say why. The both of us accepted that. We wedded, and three years later, you two boys were under our custody.' Elizabeta finished._

_Lovino frowned, he didn't mean to bring up such memories. He reached over to Elizabeta, hugging her tightly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.' Lovino muttered. Elizabeta let out a loose chuckle. 'You're like him, you know. I have times when I want to smack you with a pan, because you irritated me. My gosh, I'm wetting your clothes. Come now, let's go change before we catch a cold. It's already autumn.' Lovino nodded numbly and slid down the nice velvet sofa, walking with Elizabeta to change. And grab a break from Roderich. Feliciano was, no doubt, hungry now._

Lovino slid his eyes open, his heartrate had decreased slightly, and he walked the perimeter of the garden. His pockets, he realised, held some notes. He could buy a pair of bracelets to cover both wrists. The gate that lead to the market would be from the servants' entrance (yeah, the Mansion was old) that the helpers took each morning to buy groceries. He may run into Arthur —who went to the market to sketch in mornings—  but who cared. He raced to the other side of the house and made a dash for the gate, and climbed over the gate (only the cooks and scullery helps had keys to the gate. Oh, Roderich gave Lovino headaches sometimes). He ran the twists and turns into the market —almost bumping into Arthur, who perched on the grass that was next to the path that went to the Edelstien Mansion, Lovino thanked Fortuna for the luck— and saw a stall he was unfamiliar with. Great. That way, the helps would never know that he was here. He made his way there. It sold fruits. Lovino asked the stallholder if there were any accessories stalls. The man pointed to the stall behind him. Lovino gave his thanks, buying an apple for breakfast, and walked to the stall. 

'Hello! What would you need?' The lady manning the stall asked. Lovino glanced around, eyes hooked on a set of leather bracelets. 'How much for two?' He asked, fingers curled onto the smooth leather. 'Buying it for your elder sister?' The lady assumed, a nod was returned. 'It can go for three pounds, thank you, love.' Lovino grinned —obviously fake— and made his way back. He slipped the bracelets on before he climbed back in. Adjusting the straps so they fit hid wrists with slipping, Lovino thought of another name. He had to go with another name. The jerk had his name tattooed somewhere, so his name had to go.

What name? Lovino pondered as he wandered the halls, he paused. His brother had called him "Romano" before, since Lovino was borne from the South (unlike Feliciano, who was borne of the North). Lovino liked that name. Romano it was, then.

His classes started three hours later, since Romano couldn't get Feliciano to wake up, amd he had to get another shower. He had the smell of the market in his hair. 

It was back to the old life, a life where soul mates didn't exist for Romano Vargas.

 

* * *

 

Life continued like that for years. Until Romano turned eighteen, he had passed his papers with marks that Aliastor approved of, and Feliciano had found his soul mate was a man named Ludwig Beilshmidt. Elizabeta and Roderich had been so stunned. Elizabeta rang the Beilshmidt's number with astonishing speed, whilst Roderich pulled Feliciano into a tight hug. 'Never let him go.' Roderich said through tears. Gilbert was a Beilshmidt. For the next two days, no news of Ludwig came from Germany. 

It was said that Ludwig was in school. Feliciano wasn't unhappy. He had a bright grin. 'Then I would have more time to spend with fratello! And I won't be seperated from him! Ludwig would have to wait.' Romano felt like crying, he would have to find space to squeeze Feli's soul mate into his heart. And probably threaten him. Yeah, he was threatening Ludwig.

His friends had taken to calling Romano instead of Lovino. They didn't question about his Mark. 

'Romano!' Francis called, 'have a happy eighteenth!' Romano snorted. 'Happy? Yeah, right. I've got a crap pile of work to do, shove off.' Francis laughed loudly, hanging up. Romano's attitude shifted a little. His name changed, and the character too. Three months into running Italia and Romano wanted to call quits and let Aunt Atlanta continue. But no, he had caused his aunt enough trouble already. No need for anymore. Besides, she had other things to worry about. 'Fratello!' Feliciano came bounding in. At sixteen, Feli stood a ten centimetre's difference. Romano guessed they would grow to the same height. 

Feli looked like Romano. Light brown hair, a curl toward a side of the head —Roderich spent five whole hours to lecture them never to touch the curls— bright, hazel eyes and face aglow with triumph. The only difference was that Romano's eyes were olive coloured and his curl was on the other end. It would make a heart when the two boys slept face to face with each other (Elizabeta had tons of photos of those. Even Arthur, the most sensible, had at least ten. Don't even mention the others.) Romano was more tempermental too. 'Yeah?' Romano replied. 'I beat my personal best! A ninety-five!' Romano beamed, 'c'mon, off to the gelato place you wanted to try.' Feliciano gave a questioning look. 'Ve? But you have work!' And a squawk was given after then sentence. 'You're priority here, Feli.' 

The brothers walked to the mini gelato cafe, laughing and smiling. 'Wow. . .' Feliciano sighed when he took a look around. It wasn't glaring, and they had lava lamps! The walls were a cozy brown, chairs and tables made of wood. Romano took a peek at the selections of gelato— no, they had strawberry mixed with Belgian chocolate as a selection? Feliciano spoke quickly on his order, a triple scoop of cookie dough, vanilla, and mint and strawberry. Romano ordered the same, placing the strawberry with Belgian chocolate instead of mint. They often teased each other of this preference. Or get teased, but whatever. 

Romano paid for both, and they found a little booth (with nice fairy lights, Romano marvelled) and ate quietly. They did not talk until they sampled each type. The vanilla one was rich, buttery too. Cookie dough. . . Gods, he liked it too. Maybe he'll get another cup of triple cookie dough. The last one was the best. The strawberry was fresh! And the chocolate, Romano decided this was his favourite gelato place.

'Fave gelato place, ever.' The brothers said at once. They gave a goofy grin, and continued to eat.

Romano sent Feliciano back to the Edelstiens' and went back to work. He sighed, work, work, more work. He had already done his share, and was about to head home when Aliastor stepped in. Nine years changed nothing in the Kirkland, he was still as smart as before. 'Romano? You done? I've to talk to you.' A file was set on the table as Romano sat down the couch. He picked it up, giving a glance Aliastor's direction, and burrowed his nose in.

He sucked in a breath. His grandfather had ties with the Mafia. That was why he and Feliciano were not allowed to attend the funeral. The Mafia were present. Aliastor spent the whole night explaining the Vargas' and Mafia's ties. 

Come next day, Romano woke up too tired for anything but sleep. He called in to tell his secretary —Arthur's soul mate— Alfred to tell him he wasn't going to work. Soul mates, Romano thought, he glsnced at his pale arm. The leather bracelets from eight years ago was still there. What was the girl's name, again? Romano could not remember. Ah, he thought, what a pain. 

Though, it sure was lonely in bed without Feli. The loneliness was always there. Once the German bastard comes to claim Feli, Romano would be all alone.

But. . . If Feli left, would it be a smile gracing his lips or a sob threatening to spill forth? Romano cleared his head, it has been quite some time since he went to the market behind the Edeilstein's Mansion. Thinking about them, it was probably time to pay them a visit, too. Romano laughed softly to himself, he wondered if Elizabeta was still yammering at Roderich to put off work and rest more. Romano scrambled around his room, running left and right to fix himself up before leaving. As per usual, the big Mansion which he had recently inherited was loud with Feliciano hugging onto Arthur —and a very sulky American glaring at the younger Vargas— it had become a daily thing for the house. Arthur would come early in the morning after his visits to the market and settle down to teach Feliciano a few things before passing a file to Romano concerning Italia, then he wouls bid goodbye and be off to work. Where he worked was a mystery to Romano. The Kirklands on the whole were a mystery. Lately, Alfred would follow Arthur as he was afraid that "Artie would fall in love with Feli!" as he would proclaim. Romano sighed and plucked Feli off of Arthur, who grumbled a thanks, and chided, 'Feliciano Romulus Vargas! Don't do that! Arthur us going to go grey if you keep doing that!' 

At this, Feliciano paled. 'Ve! I don't want Arthur to go grey! Ve, ve, Arthur, I'm so sorry!' He whimpered, hugging Romano. Arthur seemed at a loss, 'ah, no— just, please do refrain from hugging me too tightly. I cannot breathe right.' Arthur gave a light laugh. Alfred frowned. 'Hey! Don't forget the Hero!' The four ended up laughing together. 

Romano bade Feliciano goodbye —and good luck, for his exams— as he left for the Edelsteins. He decided to walk there, though the Mansion was in another part of the still, somehow, rural England. It was rather close to Wales, where Romano now resided with Feliciano. How many times had Arthur failed to send the files to Romano because he lived in central London, far from the Kirklands' Mansion? The townhouse that the Kirklands had belonged to Arthur's third oldest brother, and Arthur's second eldest brother lived in Wales. . . Somewhere. The other brother lived with Aliastor, still. Come to think of it, Arthur was never really late in giving the files. Romano wondered in glee if Arthur lived with Aliastor. He paused when he found himself at the market. He hadn't been here in eight years. Gosh, he missed the bustle of this place. The accessories shop had long gone, he had heard from Roderich, but none others had left. He picked his way from the fruits stall —while passing a greeting to every other vendor— and bought a few guavas and mangoes, with a peach for himself to chew on as breakfast. Passing by the vegetables stall, he glanced around for a few vegetables he wanted for lunch later in the Edelstiens', he spotted a really healthy cabbage, a few cucumbers, as well as a few delicious looking tomatoes, he picked them a up, paying for it and walked over to a stall that sold. . . Was this a new stall? It sold churros, from what the sign read. 'Hello! How can I help?' A lady greeted from behind the stall. Romano greeted, and requested for a few of the tasty treats. He and Feliciano were gluttons for churros. And any other foods. The lady grinned when she saw Romano's wide eyes staring at the churros. 'Take these, as a gift. I have never seen you before. Where do you live?' Romano accepted the gift —albeit with a guilty face— and answered, 'I used to live with the Edelstiens, I moved out last year.' The lady nodded, smiling. 'I see, my stall hasn't been around long, no wonder. Well, best be on your way, the bags you're carrying will be sure to give anyone a shock!' Romano flushed, bading a goodbye as he walked to the Mansion. He was carrying a lot of bags, from foods to little toys and large gifts. The thought of Roderich's horrified face when Romano presented all of them to the couple was enough to make Romano giggle quietly. Roderich was one that did not bode well with "wasting money", Romano chuckled a little. He entered the little path that brought him to the back of the Mansion. It had been so long since he'd last came here. He could see an indent of where Arthur usually sat, and he pictured the older blond to be concentrating on his art as the streets in front of him changed. He walked further on, awed at wild rosebushes that bloomed a pallet of colours. He wound up at the servants' entrance.

 'Now or never,' he told himself. He swung the old gate open (he had removed a hinge or two a few years back), startling the helps. 'Oh! Young Master Romano!' A girl yelped out, rushing to help Romano with the bags. Romano shifted his arms, 'help me tell Eliz I'm back first?' The girl nodded and left. The others offered help, but Romano pushed them all aside. 'Tell the chefs to take a break for today, too!' The helps stared helplessly as their Young Master fled to the sitting room. Elizabeta released a squeal as she saw Romano walking toward her. 'Are those for me?' She asked. Romano set the bags of gifts —containing various dresses, make-ups, food (for Romano) and a box of strawberry flavoured churros— on the table. 'Everything but the food.' He grinned. Before Eizabeta could hug Romano in gratitude, Roderich stormed up to him; face flushed from anger. 'Hey, Roderich!' Romano greeted, pulling the older male into a hug. He ran away with the groceries and food when he pulled away from the hug. 'Wait for dinner, old man! Then, you can scold me!' Romano laughed cheekily as he heard Roderich's fuming cries and loud clanking of the piano playing Chopin. Elizabeta laughed along. 

Romano paused, took out his phone and dialled Feli. 'Feli, come to the Mansion, we're having a feast!' Feliciano screamed and scolded the older boy about "not inviting me to buy the groceries". Romano laughed again. He waited in the kitchen, chopping the ingredients to make pizza and pasta  (and some Austrian delicacy that could simmer the anger of Roderich —knowing Feliciano, he would do the same as Romano and spend quite the bit of money on presents), he heated the pots and pans, making various sauces, humming a tune that Roderich had taught him. He was about halfway done with the sauces when Feliciano burst in, 'Roman-oo! Are you done with the—pasta!' The younger Vargas rushed to cook the spaghetti and finish off the sauce that Romano had started. It became tradition for Romano to start cooking the pasta sauce, but Feliciano was to finish it off with a little spice of "Norhern flavour". 

And so, began the Vargas brothers' big cookout without the chefs. (The two did not make a mess while preparing cakes. Nope. It was the chefs that prepped lunch whom forgot to clean up) 

Romano and Feliciano sighed in relief as the apple strudel, palatschinken and sachertorte were completed and set for cooling. The two brothers shared a glance, and laughed loudly as they placed the foods of various types onto four huge serving platters, skillfully balancing them as they walked out the kitchen. As expected, Roderich's angry glare melted into a sweet smile when he saw his favourites on the platter. (Romano swore he heard Roderich say, 'at least they cooked up some Austrian food.') They set the plates down on the table, put the platters aside, before Elizabeta hugged them both. Cold sour cherry soup and bejgli was spotted. 'You can cook Hungarian food!' Elizabeta gasped. The brothers nodded. 'Let's eat!' Feliciano shouted and took his seat. Romano did the same. The whole of dinner, Romano laughed more than he had ever did in the past one year. 'So. . .' Elizabeta drawled, spearing her apple strudel, 'I heard from Feli that you actually have a Mark?' Romano swallowed his piece of apple strudel with some force, glancing at Feli. 'Ve, I'm sorry. I was just happy that you weren't Unmarked.' Feliciano apologised, playing with his bejgli. Romano nodded in acknowledgement. 'Yeah, I've got a Mark.' Elizabeta beamed. 'Great! Then, I can smack the idiot's head in with my frying pan!' Romano sat in shocked silence, as Roderich scolded Elizabeta. Even Feliciano looked a little startled. 'Eliz, um, you shouldn't hit a girl.' Romano replied meekly. All conversations (read: fighting over pans and the occasional "ve~"s) stopped.

_'Girl?'_

Romano was then forced to peel off his wristband (and when he did, he was glad that there was no tanline, his skin was magical),  _Antonio Fernández Carriedo_ was seen. Romano blinked dumbly at the name. No. No. No. No way. He slapped the wristband back on, 'no, no, this— it— I . . .' Romano choked, no way. A guy? Elizabeta swallowed thickly, it was like eight years ago all over again. Feliciano and Roderich shared concerned looks. Romano stood up, 'I'm sorry, I've recieved a call. I need to leave the room for a while.' He did not wait for a reply as he dashed out the dining room. 'Wait, Romano!' Elizabeta cried, scraping her chair back. 

Romano dashed through the hallway of the Mansion, running out of the door. It had started to drizzle. He ran down the cobblestone road and into the garage (which was built when Romano was not yet born). He started up his spare car and drove out, wherever. Probably to remove the damned tattoo. Tattooes could be removed, he read once. He hoped and prayed to Jupiter that it applied for Marks, too. Unknowingly, he had drove all the way to the Kirkland's Manor in London. He didn't even turn off the engine, amd dashed to the door. 'Arthur! Arthur!' He punched at the door. 'Arthur!' Romano was close to tears. Why was he crying? Shit! 'Arthur Percival Kirkland!' With a final punch, Romano slid down the door. Rain clung to his clothes as his tears mixed with drops of rain. 'Open up. I need help.' Arthur was a proffesional tattoo artist, he remembered, and Arthur could remove them. Romano gave another punch, the door swung open. 'Mother of— Romano?! What are you doing here? It's freezing! Come here,' Arthur frantically lifted Romano up, dragging the poor boy across the rooms and seated Romano on a couch. Arthur spoke softly. 'Christ, warm up first. Whatever can come after.' He demanded Romano abandon his clothes before wrapping towels and blankets around him. 'Antonio! I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid that we will have to continue later. My friend has caught a cold. Could you contact my brother?' Romano caught a glimpse of sun-kissed skin and tousled brown hair, with bright green eyes staring. 'Yeah, 'course!' Antionio, that sounds familiar. Romano slipped into the arms of darkness. 

'Romano!'

///\\\\\

Romano cracked an eye open. His eyesight was hazy, he was in Arthur's guestroom, he guessed. He didn't hear Feliciano, which meant that. . .  Arthur didn't call the Edelsteins? Romano sluggishly sat up, his eyesight clearing a little. He let out a sneeze, and a pang shot up his spine. 'What the absolute fuck?' He mummured, he knew he had a cold. But back pains!? He wasn't even 60 yet! 'Romano!' Arthur's voice sliced his eardrums, and Romano dove under the sheets, whimpering. 'Ah, crap! Sorry, Romano.' Arthur whispered. Arthur made movements —Romano thought— and the blanket was removed. Romano blinked. Those green eyes aren't Arthur's. Romano registered he kicked the stranger —who was he?—  and apologised, 'I'm so sorry!' The other man groaned. 'Arthur, you told me this boy couldn't fight!' He sounded Spanish. Romano felt a flush up his neck. 'Fuck you, you bastard!' Romano huffed and ran out the room, headache in full blow.

And for the second time that week, Romano heard his name called out with an "I'm sorry!" laced in it. 

 'Fucking assholes.' Romano mumbled, closing the door of Alfred's room at Arthur's. 'I hate this.' His head was swimming. All because of the tattoo. He never removed it—  _Feliciano removed it when Romano was asleep!_ Romano gritted his teeth, damn Fates. A knock on the door. And another. In the rythym of the Italian anthem. Who— ? 'Roma, right?' The stranger asked. Romano hissed back, 'Roma _no,_ asshole. Don't butcher my name like that.' He heard Arthur shout, 'Romano! Your medicine is in the left drawer! I knew you would go there. A cup of cappuccino is on the nightstand, if you want it!' Romano thanked the heavens for Arthur, Arthur's cooking may not be the best (it's improving) but his brewing skills are the best. He gulped the coffee down, ignoring a hug from behind him. Wait. Huh? Romano swallowed, and turned to see the stranger.

'Oi! What— ' The stranger merely smiled.  Romano sneered, 'you asshole, get off.' The stranger stopped smiling. 'You look like you needed it.' Romano opened the door, telling Arthur that he would "go back to Roderich's, don't tell them anything!" Arthur agreed, albeit baffled. 

The stranger's eyes never left him. 

_What was her name again? The one I'm supposed to "fall in love" with? Ah, whatever, she can go fuck herself._


	2. I Don't Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio Fernández Carriedo had waited all his life—albeit he was still really young— for his Soul Mate. He wanted to cherish whoever that person would be, and share everything with that person. On the day he turned fourteen, he knew it was impossible. The Mark showed the name of a different language, a name Antonio could never say. All he saw was a thick, black stripe where the name had been. Had. It was there, just a day ago. Now, a big hole had been dug. 
> 
> His special someone didn't want him. 
> 
> It's alright. He could still be Antonio. Just, without a person he could love.
> 
> And he pretends, sometimes, that he didn't go to bed crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antonio's take on the first chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to BB for giving me the idea o'this whole story!
> 
> Un'beta'd, please notify me when you spot a mistake; )

Anotnio  _knew_ this would happen. He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. He walked down the familiar streets of the city, laughing and smiling stupidly to both locals and tourists. He could hide it, for now. As the rush hour slowly fell to a trickle, Antonio settled himself on the curb of a walkway. Absentmindedly, his fingers brushed against the skin slightly below his collarbone. His fingers stopped, and Antonio gulped. The name wasn't there anymore. The smooth, inky, and flaring name that bore his heart was now a thick stripe of cold heat. He swore it was there yesterday. But he knew it would happen, anyway. Just like how his mother and up-ped and left when he was five; his Soul Mate had decided to reject him. It always happens. His father said it once, on a chilly winter evening, that in every generation, the one that the Fernández's care greatly for will walk out, die early, or fall in love with someone else. It was a curse set a long time ago, when Spain was still a mighty empire of millions of people, and dozens of colonies. And also, magic. Magic older than Spain itself, nastier than a pirate's hygiene, this magic had set the curse. His family was from a long time ago, before Spain was an empire. A terrible incident had occurred between his ancestor and said ancestor's Soul Mate. Marcó Fernández was caught cheating on his Soul Mate—Minerva Fiera— with another girl, whose name was never to be spoken (but it was said to be Minerva's older sister, Venus Fiera, whose Soul Mate died at birth). Minerva, enraged, had a sorceress cast a powerful curse on Marcó Fernández. The exact same curse that Antonio loathes. Antonio numbly stares at the wide stretch of road in front of him. His family's summer house was somewhere. . . Maybe his older step-brother could help him. 

'Hello? _Mikael?'_ The walls echo his questions. A muffled "coming!" and sounds of stomping revealed the Portuguese man. 'Antonio!' Mikael stops short when he sees the younger male frowning. 'Toni?' Mikael senses the tension of _it happened, shit, shit, shit_ and sighs. Antonio's facade crumbles and he cries on his brother's shirt. 'All I wanted was to have a Soul Mate.' He cries to his elder brother, who says nothing.

The next day, Antonio plasters on a grin and rushes out. Mikael dials a number he has no idea why he keeps. 'Oi, Kirkland, I need help.' The sound of a crashing teapot and shouts and screams of an Englishman—or Englishboy— were heard and Mikael sighs. Things keep getting better, huh?

 

* * *

 

 

Antonio wants to kill Mikael. For the love of everything under the sun, Mikael had told their dad and the Kirklands—the family that his clan hates. He growls in frustration and kicks the foot of his bed. A blond head—much like the sun's rays, or spun gold, or hairs of gold—sticks into Antonio's room. Green eyes that looked eerily like some precious emeralds, or a wonderful teal colour—when mad, and turquoise and light when the boy was upset, large, thick eyebrows, with skin too pale; stood Arthur Kirkland. Arthur was two years younger than Antonio. His eyes looked like some teal marbles, large and shiny. Arthur's eyes landed on Antonio's collarbone, and stared. 'Oh.' The Kirkland yelped, scrambling the too scrawny body to a side when a larger man stood at Antonio's door. Flaming red hair, poison-green eyes, a frown adorning his face (where was the smirk Antonio always saw?) and wearing a black "BLINK 182" shirt and skinny jeans (red, like his hair), was the eldest Kirkland. Aliastor. Antonio felt his insides grow mushy with fear. Once, Antonio "accidentally" shoved Arthur to the rough tar ground, and Aliastor had personally came up to him. His face matched his flaming red hair. Calmly, Aliastor had told Antonio what would happen to the younger boy if a repeat of any actions that could hurt Arthur were to occur. 'Well, laddie, looks like the damn Port isn't wrong.' Aliastor grumbled and dragged Antonio off the bed, with a groan, Antonio landed face first in front of Arthur. 

'Aliastor!' Arthur shrieked, helping the Spainard sit properly on the hardwood floor. He checked Antnio's head gently, mumbling "stupid brothers" and "I'm sorry" over and over again. Sometimes, Antonio had the feeling that Arthur hated the other Kirklands. Aliastor took a look at the stripe—disgusting, Antonio thought about the stripe—and left the room. 'We'll be going to France soon!' He shouted to the younger Kirkland. Arthur stuck his tongue out as a reply. 'Hey,' Arthur says quietly. He's always been a quiet kid, Antonio reflects. Antonio tries to grin, but his lips stay unmoved, and he tries again; until he sees tears in his eyes. He then realises that he's crying. But it was too late anyway, he crumples into Arthur's small frame, scaring the younger boy, and sobs into the blue Armani shirt. Antonio was sure that Arthur would laugh at his pathetic state, leave him on the floor, and never come back; but Arthur said nothing, remaining on the floor, stroking Antonio's hair as Arthur sings hymns about fairies and the Pied Piper, followed by poems about dragons and pixies. Antonio doesn't stop crying, and Arthur stays with him, all the way till night. Aliastor calls the next day, permiting Arthur to stay in Spain until he comes back. 

The next day, when he was feeling just a little better, Antonio is startled to see a pale faced English boy sweating on the floor next to him. No way. 'Hey, hey Arthur? Art?' Antonio tries again. 'Arthur? Hello?' He panics, moving Arthur into the bed. His body feels warm. Antonio gulps, hands fumbling to get a cold towel in the batroom. Was Arthur ill the whole time? Antonio pressed the towel onto Arthur's forehead, and tries to stare at the shaking frame as if that could help him remember. Arthur did feel a little warmer than usual yesterday, and his voice was softer than ever when he sang. Antonio tidies himself up—and changes Arthur's crumpled shirt with the smallest shirt he has, and Antonio swears Francis and the Kirklands aren't doing anything to fatten Arthur up— and leaves the room. He walks down the stairs, and cautiously treads down the hallway, turns a corner, and screams. In his kitchen, is the second eldest Kirkland, Oliver Kirkland. The Irishman greets Antonio with a smile, orange hair rumpled by the rain that happened last night. 'Ally was worried Art would get sick again. And by your expression of pure worry, he's right. How is that midget?' Antonio scowls at the nickname Oliver gives Arthur—that's mean. He then remembers that Oliver's an impatient man, and stutters out the degree of Arthur's fever. Oliver's smile turns into a scowl, and the Kirkland leaves in a flurry. 'Help yourself to breakfast, Toni.' Oliver shouts. Antonio proceeds to sit at his usual seat, mouth agape at the spread. He knows Oliver cooks excessively when he's worried; but this— this _feast_ was scary. The long dining table was filled with foods Antonio was familiar with, and a few foreign foods. How are they supposed to finish all this? Sure, maybe Mikael could eat everything up, but. . . Mikael must've went back to the summer house already. Antonio admits defeat and grabs a plate from the stack and pulls a pile of food onto it. He calls the helpers to fetch him some coffee—'get a stronger one, no sugar or milk, thank you!'— and digs in. Oliver's cooking is wonderful, but so is every other Kirklands', well. . . Maybe not Arthur. He was just about to help himself to a second serving—the monster inside him had awoken—when his father and step-mother walk into the dining hall, quiet. Antonio stands up to greet them. 'Good morning,' he tells them. His step mother's solemn looks slides off into shock when she sees him. 'Tonio!' She cries, and hugs him. His father chuckles and shakes his head, sitting down the chair to sip his coffee. 'Oh, Tonio, you musn't keep the poor boy in your room! Francis will throw a fit!' His step mother, Maria, reprimands him softly. Antonio lets out an involuntary chuckle. 'I'm sure Francis won't mind.' He replies. A few moments later (when Antonio eats his fourth round of food, because it was delicious), Oliver comes down, carrying Arthur. Arthur whines a little bit—'I don't want to see the Frog bastard! He'll make fun of me!'—and Oliver shushes him. 

'Sorry, Mr and Mrs Fernández, we've gotta get going!' Oliver yells and storms down the hallway to the oak doors. Antonio yells back a confused goodbye, while his father laughs. Maria stares, preplexed. 'Why is Arthur wearing your shirt?'

* * *

 

Antonio lied. Francis was _blazing_ that Antonio had kept Arthur over. The Frenchman was still going on and on about how unfair it was that Arthur was late, when he paused. 'Antonio, your Mark. . .' Francis mumbles. He did notice it, then. Antonio waves it off, 'I had it coming.' Arthur appears a few moments later, face red, and sits down far away from Francis and Antonio. 'Arthur? Is something wrong?' Arthur stubbornly shakes his head. Antonio was in France, for a week, and stayed at Francis' house. Arthur had been here for four days, and each day, Arthur was getting crankier and crankier. It was terrifying Antonio. Francis didn't bother Arthur, still focused on the stripe. 'Arthur, the Mark was  _his_ name,  _non?_ ' Arthur turns to look at Francis, and nods. 

Antonio freezes, 'do you know him?' He asks Francis. Francis shakes his head, 'he's got a file in my parents' company.' Arthur stays quiet. 'I'll be going back tonight, I have to study.' Arthur tells then quietly. Antonio triggers a "no" in his head before Francis jumps on Arthur, wailing,  _'mon petit lapin! Non!'_ Arthur glared and kicks, only to be rescued by Aliastor, who tells Antonio that he'll be fetching Antonio back to Spain. 'Okay! See you tonight!' Francis sighs dramatically and moans about how "I'll never see him again until Christmas!", and Antonio snorts. Francis was going back to England after the summer, isn't he? His friends were weird. Francis tilts his head to a side. 'You do know Arthur is a late bloomer, right?' 

Antonio laughs.

* * *

 

Antonio cusses. He didn't know Francis meant that Arthur hasn't got his Mark yet. And he's already sixteen! The eighteen year old Spainard's grin slid off his face when Francis admits it to him. On a cold, grey, Monday; in the Kirklands' townhouse study, stood Francis Bonnefoy. Leaning against the large windowsill that overlooked a candy store Arthur favours, the Frenchman looks at his shoes with interest. Antonio feels sick. At least he's got his Mark at ten. Arthur's still waiting. Waiting. . . For. . . Someone. Pieces of the argument the French and English had moments before came back. 

_'I— you— but—!' Francis shouts at Arthur, whose eyes are a storm of teal, and he screams back; 'yes! That's right! I lied! Big ass deal! If you dislike it, go back to the French nation you love! Away from the "cold and grey England that I hate"! I HATE you!' Arthur wheels away, slamming the study door shut with a force so strong it rattles Antonio's bones. 'Francis?' Antonio asks. Francis leans back, sighing. His long blond hair sweeps over his blue eyes, obscuring them from the green eyes that search for an answer. 'Arthur. . . I've told you. He is a late bloomer. He hasn't revcieved his Mark yet.' Antonio feels dizzy. Arthur sounded so hurt, and full of disgust. And then. . . Francis tells him this._

'I've. . . Got to go.' He was late by half an hour. He's supposed to be meeting someone—was it Vash Zwingli? Uhm, Basch Zwingli?—and he doesn't really like to be late. 

Zwingli glances distastefully at his coffee. 'Are you saying you can't get the parts?' Antonio laughs nervously. 'No, no. Just. The price you're paying, it isn't enough to even ship those parts, let alone buy them.' Zwingli's eyes darken and narrow, 'how about I raise it by twenty five percent?' Antonio calculates the profit. Two hundred thousand. He smiles, and nods. 'When do you want then by?' Zwingli smiles, eyes smoking. 'Next Monday.' Antonio accepts the offer. 'You'll see the parts in Switzerland in a week, Mr Zwingli. Pleasure meeting you.' As soon as Antonio leaves the coffee shop—he allows Zwingli to pay, as revenge for rushing the goods—he dials in a number he hasn't called in a week. 'Aye?' A voice cheerfully greets on the other side. 'Hey, Hera. Can you do me a favour? There's something I need by next Monday; yeah, it's pretty urgent; sure, you'll get profit from this. Yeah, yeah, it's in Switzerland. No worries, I'll pay for the shipping. Thanks!'

He doesn't notice a small boy with a stray curl run to the coffee shop, mouth spilling curses over the phone. 

* * *

 

At nineteen, Antonio decides to go to Germany. To just a friend's brother. He peeks at the grand house. Whoa, it's changed. From the messy interior with canvases and vases filled with various art supplies; to a neat, dull and horribly sad house. Everything was covered in a black cloth. Antonio felt a weight of sadness consume him, his older friend, Gilbert, died a year ago. 

Antonio padded past the grand hall, and into the sitting room. 'Hello? He sighed miserably, sitting on the couch was a boy who was nine, blond hair shining slightly from the soft glow of the lamp, light blue eyes that shone with unhappiness. He was holding a cloak and some sort of hat that belonged to him in his younger years. 'Ludddddyyyy!' Antonio flung himself to the younger boy. Ludwig screeched, arms flailing as he fell to the floor. 'Brother Antonio, ow!' He complained. Antonio laughed foolishly. 

They spent the rest of the day reminiscing the days when Gil was around.

* * *

 

 

At twenty, Antonio finally stops flitting from country to country and decides to visit England. Pestering an eighteen year old Arthur was fun; especially when his boyfriend was in America doing whatever agents did for the FBI. Arthur Percival Kirkland, eighteen, with spun gold blond hair, brilliant emeralds that changed shades and even colours when feeling a different emotion, skin like snow, lips forever in a pout, thick eyebrows and sharp features. He didn't change much from those years ago when Antonio met him. Except the fact that his hair was messier and longer than Antonio remembered. 'My little angel, Arthur!' Arthur stoped short, dropping the many boxes and letters in his arms. Arthur's emerald eyes brightened up as he ran to Antonio, jumping into the older's arms. 

'Antonio!' Arthur squeals, attracting various eyes. A bespectacled man tries to extract Arthur from Antonio, but to no avail. Finally, said man leaves, muttering something about "bringing Mr Kirkland". Antonio chuckled and joking about how Arthur was still as thin—honestly, what are the Kirklands and Francis doing?—, to which Arthur promptly knocked the back of Antonio's knees, causing the unsuspecting Spainard to fall gracefully onto the floor. Oh, Antonio's forgotten how quick it is to anger Arthur. Antonio apologised for another hour straight, adding a few comments about the title Arthur was currently holding. 'I see nothing wrong with this. . .' Arthur mumbled softly. Anotnio's shoes tapped the marble floor urgently, silently praying to whichever god that everything would be alright. It was at that time that Aliastor came into the lounge. Antonio greeted the Kirkland lightly, mind trained on the fact that Aliastor seemed to have gotten scarier over the years. The flipping of papers and incoherent mumbling was the only thing that filled the room with any sort of noise. Antonio was feeling really bored, to be honest. He was the sort of kid that would never stop fidgeting, always looking for something to do. Finally, Arthur's green eyes appeared.

Arthur wordlessy passed the papers to Aliastor, and started talking. 'The only thing that I could find faulty is the little "bottle of red nail polish" that was conveniently placed in the middle of the messy carpark.' Antonio nodded, 'we all thought that.' Arthur rolled his eyes, which were starting to turn dark, 'I meant that the bottle was  _put there,_ like it was, say, an important  _clue?_ ' Antonio laughed, green eyes filling with tears. 'What? A bottle of nail polish? Capable of killing? Stop toying around, Little Arthur.' Aliastor flickered his eyes toward Antonio. He brought a pen out; circling a few things on the paper before smacking it in Antonio's face. As the paper slid off Antonio's face, the look of dark amusement and glee showed up on Arthur's face. Antonio narrowed his eyes and grabbed the papers. He read the entire report all over again, paying close attention to the parts circled in blue. 

_A bottle of red nail polish was found in the centre of the scene. Five paces away, lay the dead body of Sir William. Not quite trusting anything at the moment, David walked slowly toward the body._

_Two hours of examinations later, it was discovered that Sir William had taken poison. Not sure what poison it was, though._

_Fourteen days. That was the number of days David had to suffer. Somehow, they were certain it was David who killed Sir William. How? All David saw in the scene was a pathetic bottle of nail polish. Unless. . . The nail polish. It was red, exactly the shade of blood._

_Four hours of celebration._

_One minute of silence._

Antonio let out a frustrated sigh, 'damn you lawyers. Always finding evidence.' Arthur smirked in victory as Antonio closed the book ("Red Like Snow" by Sadiq) and leaned into the couch. 'Though, the story was super fucked up, I have to say. Making a freshly minted detective witness three deaths and then find his mentor dead in a car park. Sadiq is a twisted genius writer.' Aliastor snorted, 'aren't all authors? They are the real murderers, killing as they please on paper.' Arthur silently shook his head, face paling. 'I think Romano's calling me again.' Arthur informed and left the room with his phone pressed against an ear. Aliastor patted a hand on Antonio's shoulder. 'Have a good rest at our Mansion if you need, lad. You're always welcome.' Antonio watched as Aliastor left. 

'Romano, I told you—you can't shield Feliciano forever. You just can't. If Ludwig is about to visit, then—' Arthur abruptly cut himself off as Antonio heard a voice shouting some severe curses thrown at the "Potato Bastard Ludwig". 'Romano, the most I can do is keep Feli occupied—oh dear Lord. Alright, alright. I'll do it like I suggested it. Have a good day, Romano. And no, Alfred isn't going to kill you because of the silly video game. Goodbye.' Antonio chuckled, 'client problems or. . .?' Arthur looked scandalised, face reddening, he replied. 'C'mon. You're going to the Mansion. Now.'

The twenty year old whistled a tune as he travelled with the teen. 

 

* * *

 

 

Antonio regrets. Antonio should've known. Mikael, the bastard, had done it again. 

It felt like Antonio was fourteen all over again. And hell, it hurt. Here was Arthur—sweet little Arthur that was too pure for the world—firmly stroking Antonio's hair again, while the Spainard sat there sobbing. The humming and soft singing eased its way into Antonio's bones. He didn't want a repeat of this, he swore. 

It happened. After all those years of being fine. He'd seen a boy, a boy with brilliant golden-olive eyes with a stray curl. Laughing brilliantly in front of Antonio. And that boy—the angel without wings—kissed another male. Antonio felt his heart hit rock bottom at the scene. Normally, he would chuckle and walk away, smiling. But the moment he saw the bright-eyed boy, Antonio stopped in his tracks. He felt a cold burn sear through his body; Antonio winced, maybe it's the cold. He concluded. But it wasn't. Antonio placed a hand on the stripe at his neck. And the pain worsened. It wasn't the cold. It was the boy. 

He'd just witnessed his Soul Mate love another. 

He stumbled back to the Kirkland Mansion, body numb from pain and heart completely shattered. He kicked his shoes off, and made his way to the guest room (more like his room in the Mansion, since it was the only room that Antonio stays in whenever he visits), and he saw his elder brother. The grin slid off his face as Mikael took in Antonio's expression. 'C'mon. Let's rest up.' Mikael told Antonio, and Antonio didn't really remember what happened. Until he saw a head of gold—like spun gold, or the sun's rays, or hairs of gold—peek into the room. Eyes that shone a dark forest green looked at Antonio before violently jerking his head to look outside, Arthur entered the room. 

Antonio couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't. The world around him blurred as he felt the walls he built so long ago break and crack, and fall around him. Before long, it was back to when Antonio was fourteen. Hymns, poems, songs, and a strange incantation filled the room.

No, this wasn't the same.

Antonio felt his heart burn painfully. It wasn't the same. Antonio could never convince his love to love him. Never. 

And he fell asleep, thoughts blank. 

///\\\\\

Francis sighed, eyes burning from tears, as he chatted with Elizabeta. 'And you're telling me this now? Jesus, Eliza.' Elizabeta shook her head, voice urgent. 'You don't understand, Francis. This—this is horrible. I've never seen Roderich this upset.' Antonio snuck a look at the Austrian man that sat in the centre of the room. Expensive clothing splayed out everywhere, dozens of papers that were thrown everywhere, a pair of glasses lay stranded on the floor, broken. In the centre was Roderich, with his clothes rumpled. Antonio watched as Roderich continued the silent fit he was throwing. The clothes that belonged to the floor were Gilbert's, the papers were Gilbert's drabbles and rough storylines that were written for fun, the glasses were Roderich's. 

Elizabeta rushed into the room when Roderich collapsed. 'Roderich! You foolish man!' She cried. Antonio felt sick. What was Roderich thinking? 'Roddy, you shouldn't have come in here and mess up your life.' Antonio whispered. This was Gilbert's study. Francis suddenly whirled around, running toward the stairs.  _'Petit_ Feliciano, what are you doing? I did tell you that you were to stay with the  _belle, non?'_  Another voice was heard. 'B-but the  _bella_ told me that you had a meeting in an hour and told me to get you since she doesn't know her way around.  _Mi dispiace, non volevo interrompere!'_ Antonio paid those two no mind. He closed the door of the study, mouthing "I'll come over again tonight" to Elizabeta and he walked off to join Francis, who had finished his conversation with the other boy. 'Francisco did you understand what the boy said? I heard something about a beauty?' Francis shook his head. 'That beauty would be my secretary. My Italian is crap; but from what I gather, Feli was saying that he didn't mean to interrupt. I don't need that child knowing what's going on with Roderich. Him and Romano would cause more unwanted trouble.' So the boy was Feli? Antonio questioned, weird name. 'Why did Roderich do that?' Antonio questioned slowly. 

Francis gave a bitter smile. 'Sometimes, Aphrodite wants to tell us that in the end, it is her who chooses our Soul Mates. She wants us to know that she can bring the feeling of pain to someone who's lost theirs. Most of the time, she just wants to get us together. But even goddesses aren't all kind.'

Antonio pondered over those words, 'I get that Aphrodite isn't on my side, then.'

 ///\\\\\

Antonio was in England. Again. After the incident with Roderich, Antonio decided that he needed to leave for a while. Tensions were running high. Antonio was now twenty three. He spent his twenty second year back home, in Spain, helping his parents and brother with the business (he always was), but his step-mother decided that Antonio needed to be in England. Most of Antonio's friends from Spain had migrated elsewhere, or moved further from town. He'd told Maria that it was fine; but Maria was having none of it. Mikael didn't approve, but couldn't say anything. Antonio made his way through town with his backpack (his clothes were already in the Town House, since he spent a fair bit of time in England), smiling to the people in the market. The Mansion nearest to the market's was Roderich's, and further down belonged to the Bonnefoys, the Kirklands' Mansion was the furthest, with another market right behind them. Antonio decided to pay a visit to the Edelstein Mansion before heading off to London. 

The Mansion was a tad quieter than Antonio remembered. Maybe because those two kids were gone? Elizabeta told Antonio wonderous stories about them. Antonio rung the door bell, beaming when he gates opened. He rushed in, hugging Elizabeta tight. ''Beta! I missed you!' Elizabeta laughed and shoved Antonio off, and so began the day.

Roderich was fairing well. Super well. It seems that that one mental breakdown had given Roderich the time to fix himself up. Antonio felt better knowing this. If Gilbert ever found out about it, he'd be rising from his grave and attacking Antonio and Francis for failing to take care of Roderich. Even if Gilbert was older than the both of them. Elizabeta had threatened to call Aliastor when Antonio said he didn't need a ride to London ('I could get my own ride, 'Beta!') and Antonio reluctantly agreed. Five minutes later, he was dozing off in a cab that would bring him to London.

///\\\\\

It had started pouring by the time Arthur and Antonio finished dinner. Antonio volunteered to wash up, being a guest and all. Arthur only sighed and allowed, instructing the helpers to pitch in and prepare the room for Antonio. It was all going well, really. Until a loud banging on the door was heard in the quiet Town House. The helpers glanced worriedly at the door, whispering to themselves. 'I'll get the Young Master.' A boy said, and dashed off upstairs. Antonio was done with the washing, carefully making his way out. Lightning flashed dangerously outside. 'Whoever's out there better have an umbrella and a coat on.' Antonio mumbled.

'—thur! Arthur!' The banging became louder. 'Arthur! Arthur Percival Kirkland!' Antonio was more than worried now. The banging abruptly ended. Just then, Arthur came running down the stairs, looking flustered and shocked. Arthur skidded to a stop, flinging the door open. 'Mother of—Romano?! What are you doing here? It's freezing, come here!' Arthur demanded. 'Uhm, I think you guys should prepare something for him.' Antonio whispered. The helpers scattered. Antonio made his way out and into the room Arthur and the other person was in. Antonio couldn't really see much, with Arthur worrying and moving too quickly.

Arthur noticed Antonio, 'Antonio! I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid that we will have to continue later. My friend has caught a cold. Could you contact my brother?' Antonio took his phone out, dialling for Aliastor and answering "yeah! Of course!" Arthur suddenly stopped moving, 'Romano!' He cried, Antonio's breathing seemed to stopped. 'Hello?' Aliastor asked over the line. 'Hey,' Antonio greeted weakly, 'your brother needs help.' Aliastor didn't ask anymore, and Antonio felt his whole body go numb again.

There, on the couch, was Antonio's little angel. Looking horrible and pale with tear tracks running down his face, shivering and having his clothes stuck to him. But he was still Antonio's angel. 'Arthur, I could look after him—' Arthur glared at Antonio. 'No, you can't. Not until Aliastor comes. We need to find out what the hell is wrong. Besides, I can't have you take care of him. You're a guest.' Antonio grinned, 'hey. I'm a friend. Not a guest.'

The helpers brought a fresh change of clothes and a several towels a moment later. Only one helper remained standing in the room, while the others left. Arthur unfolded a towel and draped it over the boy's head, before proceeding to strip the boy's clothes off. Antonio was so close to growling at Arthur; but Arthur didn't want anyone else but Alfred. Antonio sucked in a breath when Arthur removed the shirt. The boy was thin, and pale, but also lean. Arthur dried him off quickly with another towel, 'Young Master, I could—' the helper was cut off when Arthur shook his head. 'You know how much Romano hates to be touched by a stranger.' A shirt was quickly pulled onto the boy. The pants were next. Arthur didn't even glance as he cleaned the boy up. But Antonio was staring all the way. Lean, long legs accompanied the boy and a pair of feet that looked smooth were revealed. Tossing the towel aside, Arthur grabbed a pair of pants and dressed the boy up. 

'Antonio, I need you to dry his hair. I have to inform Aliastor about his temperature. The clothes were way too thin. He may have a caught a cold and a a fever. Also, medicine.' At the word, the helper left with Arthur into the kitchen. Antonio walked over to the boy and started to dry his hair slowly. Brown hair that was a mix of light and dark, with a stray curl to one side. Long, dark eyelashes stood out against his skin, with a sharp nose and thin but plump lips.  _Dios mio,_ this boy is perfection. Antonio thought. Antonio hurried in drying his hair, the poor boy was still shivering. Arthur forgot to put a towel around the boy! Antonio grasped the remaining towel and spread it out over the boy. He's still shivering. Antonio noted. 

Three pairs of footsteps ran across the toward the sitting room. Antonio quickly finished his task and ruffled the boy's hair. It was soft and silky. Antonio collected the wet and used towels, bundling them up with the clothing.  Arthur rushed in first, helper in tow. 'Just a spoonful.' Aliastor's voice warned. The helper steadily poured a spoonful of the dark liquid, Arthur prying the boy's mouth open. Swiftly, the helper nudged the spoon into the boy's mouth. Arthur closed his mouth, tilting it back so the boy would swallow it. 'Thank god.' Aliastor said, 'what was the boy thinking! He could have caught hyp—' Arthur's expression turned fearful at Aliastor. 'A-Ally?' Arthur whimpered. Aliastor abandoned his words. 'Ah, I'm so sorry, laddie. I didn't—uhm, I. . . I'm sorry.' Arthur nodded, not quite convinced. 'Should we call Roderich?' Aliastor shook his head. 'The car that I saw outside belonged to Roderich.' Arthur nodded. 

'Where do we put him? We can't leave him here.' Aliastor sighed, 'Magaret, prepare a room. Quick.' The helper left quietly. 'I'm staying over, by the way. I don't think Emrys would appreciate me going back home after rushing out like that.' Arthur winced, 'sorry.' Aliastor waved it off, and carried the boy in his arms. 'I'll see you tomorrow, you two.' 

Antonio nudged Arthur. 'Hey, does he still bully you?' Arthur shook his head. 'But I'm still scared that he'll get angry and hurt me. Emrys won't be here to heal me if that happens.' Antonio twitched. Arthur said "heal" as if Emrys could do some magic and close a wound.  'Hey, he won't do that. You know it.' Arthur huddled up and backed away into the couch. 'I'm still scared, though.' He whispered softly, eyes a light turquoise. Antonio chucked and lifted him up. 'Let's get you to bed. Or Aliastor would be hitting  _me.'_

///\\\\\

Antonio learnt that the boy was named Romano ('of Rome?' He questioned, 'why would anyone name their child that?'), and was told that Romano wasn't a fighter.

Feeling refreshed, Antonio cheerfully checked in on Romano. 'What the absolute fuck?' He heard Romano mummur when he entered the room. 'Romano!' Antonio greeted. Romnao his under the covers, whimpering. 'Ah, crap! Sorry, Romano.' Antonio moved closer to get a better view, but got a kick in return. 'I'm so sorry!' He apologised as Antonio groaned. 'Arthur! You toltold me this boy couldn't fight!' He complained loudly. 'Fuck you, you bastard.' Romano snarled and ran out the room.

'Romano!' He didn't mean to insult Romano.

Antonio followed the boy. Romano closed the door to Alfred's room. Knocking the door in a tune,  Antonio asked, 'Roma, right?' He received a hissed reply. 'Roma _no,_  asshole. Don't butcher my name like that.' Arthur shouted something along the way, and Antonio took the chance to sneak into the room. Antonio instinctively hugged Romano, 'oi, what—' Antonio smiled. 'You looked like you needed it.' Romano stood up and opened the door, informing Arthur about something. 

Antonio smiled bitterly, the boy didn't even notice him. Francis was right. And so was Aliastor. In the end, the author was the one with the power to kill. The author was Romano, and Antonio was just a little character in the book.

The words "I don't love you" rang loud in the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Oh my. It took me forever. I'm so sorry. I was so caught up in my studies I didn't have any motivation to write this. And with the other one-shots that sprung up and tempted me, I totally neglected this. So, what did you think?
> 
> I know you must be wondering, "why the hell are there so many random scenes?" Honestly, I don't now. I had no inspiration in this chapter. So I wrote the first thing I thought of. But they would come into play with the other stories that'll follow after this. Hopefully I'll still be interested to update this series by then. 
> 
> Take note:
> 
> The names "Marco", "Minerva Fiera" and "Venus Fiera" are just names that mean nothing. The word "Fiera" means "fair". But that's all to it. I just needed a back story about the curse.
> 
>  
> 
> Mikael is Portugal. 
> 
> Arthur and Antonio are really good buddies in this story. I don't even know why. I just wanted Arthur and Antonio to be friends. I don't regret the decision.
> 
> Headcanon of mine. Arthur's eyes change to a different shade to fit his mood. I like that HC. 
> 
> Aliastor is Scotland, Oliver is Ireland. And they can cook. And also, punk rock. All the UK bros are really protective, but used bully Arthur a LOT. Even to the point of beating him up. More on that in the USUK story that isn't coming up until I finish GerIta and PruAus/PruHun. 
> 
> I won't give any hints on the late bloomer thing.
> 
> Yes, I'm including Turkey in my stories. He's an author. Any guesses who he might be paired with? Anyway, Switzerland may appear.... but WHO TO PAIR WITH????
> 
> Arthur can do magic. Yes he can. And so can the other Kirklands. BTW, Peter won't appear until much later. He's the youngest, but doesn't really go out a lot. Y'all will see why.
> 
> What's happened to Roddy? Well, I'm working on it. 
> 
> Okay, I know I wrote "Manor" in the last chap and "Town House" in this chap, but different POVs. So...
> 
> Emrys is Wales. And no, I didn't get the name from "BBC Merlin". I was looking up Welsh names and came across this. It means "immortal". And yes, Wales can do magic. I mean, come ON. Merlin and the Arthurian legends came from Wales! If he doesn't have magic, I be damned. Also, Wales can cook.
> 
> MOST IMPORTANT.
> 
> Everyone can sense who their SM is. As long as they're within seeing distance. Those who push their SM away (like Romano) won't be able to do so, since they didn't want the love to begin with.
> 
> Any more questions, feel free to ask!

**Author's Note:**

> Romano's thoughts are difficult to fit into this. . . 
> 
> If you're wondering why he suddenly storms out after Feli reveals everything, here's the idea:
> 
> "The more you hide/cover/try to forget your Mark and ignore your Soulmate, you would eventually forget about it. If someone reveals it, a massive shock would overtake your body. You would go through a fever."
> 
> Why does Romano not remember the gender or name of his Soulmate? He has long forgotten about Antonio, ever since he covered the mark during the year he turned ten, and would only remember when the wristband is off.
> 
> Haha, it would be difficult to continue. Please do forgive if I take a long while. I need to get Antonio to convince Romano to take off his wristband for good. 
> 
> Next one, why does Romano change his name? 
> 
> So Antonio, or his Soulmate, will never be able to find him. Why? He wants to concentrate on Italia —I have no idea why I named the company that...  
> -_-///— and make sure that his aunt Atlanta (Ancient Greece, I'll explain later) can take care of her kid (Greece) and that Feliciano never gets to worry about Italia. If Romano gets sick, Feli takes over. He doesn't know that Feli has business lesson with Atlanta after Romano's. Romano assumes the Kirklands and Alfred help, they make no effort in correcting him; either. 
> 
> When does Antonio get a seperate viewpoint?
> 
> Every even chapter. (I think there're 4? I may add a little more?) 
> 
> Why is Ancient Greece the Vargas' aunt?
> 
> In historical times, Rome and Greece were vicious enemies, yes. But a king of Troy, Aeneas, founded Rome. His mother was Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, beauty, and erotica. Does that make him Greek. NO. He is a Trojan. But his father may have been a Greek. It is unclear, and not stated, but Homer had introduced him first. So we shall make him //part// Greek. I'm sorry, Homer and Aeneas. Also, since Rome derived from Greece —Romulus and Remus were sons of Ares— it makes Greece older. So in this story, Atlanta is older than Roma (Rome, I don't know, okay?!). 
> 
> Why is Ancient Greece called Atlanta?
> 
> After the Greek virgin huntress, Atalanta. I removed the "a", due to an error in spelling. Why that female, though? Why not Helen? Excuse me, I'm not very fond of Helen of Troy. (She was a queen of Sparta, but known as "Helen of Troy") Since her status ends with "of Troy", I would stray away from her name. And also, she was the reason of war in the first place. ((I'm not really a fan of 'em.)) I chose Atlanta —stop mocking me over the spelling error!— because it was easy to pronounce. If you want a name like "Ariadne", "Amymone", "Alcestis", "Andromache", "Antigone", or a confusing name like "Cassiopeia" or "Jocasta", then... tell me. I would change it. A goddess's name is a no-no. Greek goddesses are horrifyingly scary. Hera killed every lover Zeus had, Athena changed a girl into a spider (why a spider?!?!?) and another into a snake headed lady (Greeks had imagination, I give them that), Aphrodite gave the "give Pandora to Prometheus's brother, and get her to open the pithos (not a box, dammit) and release the horrible things like diseases and death (


End file.
